


Gone

by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)



Series: Sterek A-Z Challenge [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death Mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-10-19 03:49:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10631565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasterella/pseuds/isthatbloodonhisshirt
Summary: “Scott said you might be coming by,” Lydia said with an almost exasperated sigh, giving him one of her condescending looks of superiority. “Stiles isn’t here. You won’t find him today, just leave it alone.”“I need him,” Derek snapped, irritated. “Tell me where he is.”“I don’t know,” she replied back curtly, bristling at his tone. Why was everyone on edge about Stiles today?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Teen Wolf (c) Jeff Davis

Derek was getting frustrated. He was getting frustrated, because he needed to get their resident research expert to help him with something, and he had literally spent the last three hours looking for him.

Which wouldn’t have been weird, if not for the fact that he had shown up at Stiles’ house—climbing through his bedroom window, as usual—around three in the morning and found him suspiciously missing.

The house was empty, the sheriff probably out on duty, so Derek made himself at home, taking a seat in the living room with a beer in one hand and a bag of chips in the other. The irony of that was that the beer had been hidden so Stiles couldn’t find it, though the scent made it clear he knew exactly where it was, and the chips were hidden so that Noah wouldn’t find them, though the scent made it clear he _also_  knew exactly where they were.

Getting comfortable on their couch and turning on the television, Derek managed to distract himself for an hour while waiting for Stiles before getting fed up. Tossing both the beer and chips away—knowing it would probably cause a war between father and son over who had what—he wandered back up to the bedroom and scowled at the still-empty bed.

He couldn’t for the life of him figure out where Stiles could possibly be at now-four in the morning. It wasn’t like he had a life outside the pack, and while he hadn’t checked with all the others, he knew for a fact Stiles wasn’t with any of them.

Inhaling deeply, nostrils flaring, he turned slowly, following the most recent scent out of the house. Stiles had used the front door—unsurprising, since most people tended to use doors—but Derek climbed back out the window to avoid having to figure out how to lock it. Stupid, when he thought about it, considering the open window but he didn’t dwell on it.

He followed Stiles’ scent to the bottom of the driveway, where it disappeared into nothingness, only gas and dirt hitting his olfactory system. It made sense Stiles would take the Jeep wherever he went, but it annoyed Derek because it was virtually impossible to track scents that way.

So, he’d wandered around Beacon Hills for two hours after having waited in the house for the one, trying to find Stiles. By six in the morning, he hadn’t managed to locate him, which was what led him to Scott’s house.

As he’d suspected, Stiles wasn’t there, and Scott was passed out in bed drooling on his pillow. He didn’t have time to deal with an unconscious Scott, so he grabbed the blankets and wrenched them off him, forcing the other werewolf to wake with a startled snort, tired eyes snapping open and flashing red when he turned to see who was attacking him with cold air.

“Derek?” he slurred, seeming to still be mostly asleep. “What’s going on? What time is it? Is someone hurt?”

“Where’s Stiles?”

“Who?”

Did they know more than one?

“Stiles,” he said again, stressing the name. “Hyperactive weirdo, usually running into danger armed with a baseball bat and sarcasm?”

It took much longer than Derek would’ve liked for Scott to wake up enough to comprehend the words escaping his mouth, but after a few seconds of angry glowering, the other werewolf registered his questions.

“Isn’t he at home? Sleeping? You know, like _normal_  people do at six am on a Saturday?”

“I was there. He isn’t. Where is he?”

“I’m not his sitter,” Scott grumbled, reaching for his phone. “Did you try calling him?”

“No, I thought I’d send up a bunch of elaborate smoke signals and hope he found his way to me.”

Scott grumbled something about Derek spending too much time with Stiles lately before tapping at a few things on his phone and putting it to his ear. He frowned when it went straight to voicemail, Stiles’ overly cheerful greeting almost painful to listen to, even second hand.

For one, panicked moment, Derek wondered if something had happened to him. He’d been keeping that thought buried deep during the past few hours, but a concerned look crossed Scott’s face and the emotion surged forward. What if something _had_  happened to him?

Stiles was human. He was fragile, and good bait to lure out not one, but _two_  powerful Alphas. Anyone could’ve shown up and dragged him forcefully out of bed, kicking and screaming and causing a racket.

Actually, now that he thought about it, someone definitely would’ve heard him throwing a fit, not to mention there hadn’t been any foreign smells in the house. Just Stiles and his dad, a little bit of Scott, and even Derek himself. Malia’s scent had faded, thankfully, since they’d broken up months ago, but even if it had still been there, it still would’ve been normal.

Nothing weird or out of the ordinary.

So where the fuck _was_  he?!

“Oh,” Scott suddenly said, looking at his phone.

“Oh?” Derek asked impatiently.

Scott looked up at him, winced, then set his phone down. “You won’t find him today.”

“I need him,” Derek snapped.

The younger werewolf narrowed his eyes, and when he replied, he had more venom in his tone than Derek had ever heard from him before. “Well too bad because you won’t get him today. Whatever you need, find someone else to help you.” He started to lay back down, then paused. “Not me. Someone awake and willing to help you.”

Derek wouldn’t have chosen Scott for this, anyway. He really just needed Stiles, nobody else would do. He was used to his methods, and he liked the way Stiles tried to figure things out aloud, it helped Derek think.

Having the other teen flailing around, waving a pen in one hand with a marker behind his ear and ranting about weird theories and how things interconnected before throwing an arm out a little too hard and falling out of his chair with a bang—Derek was too used to it.

He was spoiled, and he knew it. He liked being around him, even if he ignored the millions of reasons behind why. Like the fact that he’d been very happy the first time he’d noticed Malia’s scent was fading from his skin—something made worse when he’d actually smirked at finding out they’d broken up. It had been inappropriate to do, especially considering Stiles had sounded miserable about it when he’d been telling him, and had proceeded to call Derek an asshole for being so happy to see him miserable.

He couldn’t help it. In the past, it had been _his_  pack. He was the Alpha, he had his three betas, and Scott and Stiles. Scott wasn’t one of his betas, but he was still in the pack, and he and Stiles came as a unit. They’d been a good pack. Small, controlled, focussed.

Then more people had been added. Allison, Lydia, Kira, Malia, Liam… It was too many. Even though he’d lost his betas and Allison was gone, it still somehow felt too crowded. He wanted things to go back to how they had been when Scott had first turned.

Him. Scott. Stiles.

Actually, he could do without Scott, but he _was_  useful in a pinch, so he supposed he’d let him stay in his mental pack. Still, he missed the closeness.

The pack was too full of drama now. He hated it, and he hated how much of Stiles’ attention was split. Everyone went to him for research, he was the idea man, the almost-expert—which was saying something considering he hadn’t known the supernatural world existed until his best friend had joined it.

Realizing he was just standing there scowling down at Scott, who’d laid down facing away from him and was resolutely ignoring him, Derek growled and turned to leave before noticing the blanket on the floor. Feeling vindictive for Scott being so cryptic, he picked it up and left the room with it, hearing Scott muttering profanities after him.

Dumping the blanket on the living room couch since he wasn’t a _complete_  asshole, he headed outside, scented the air, and then began walking. He wasn’t sure where else he should go, so he just went around the pack’s houses despite knowing he wouldn’t find Stiles.

Thankfully, he wasn’t at Malia’s, and though he’d suspected it, he also wasn’t at Kira’s. Liam wasn’t even in town, so that was a no-go, and Derek had a hard time nearing Lydia’s house without her mother noticing so he left that one for now.

Making his way to the station instead, he wandered in to talk to the sheriff in case Stiles truly _was_  missing and was informed the man wasn’t in. He had the day off.

That wouldn’t have been so weird, if not for the fact that both Stiles _and_  the sheriff’s cars were gone. If they were together, they would’ve driven off together. Something weird was going on.

Derek sought out Parrish. He didn’t particularly like any of the deputies at the sheriff’s station, but Parrish was tolerable because of his own supernatural inclination. He tried to weasel information out of him, but the deputy knew as much as Derek did. The sheriff had apparently booked the day off months ago, but hadn’t mentioned it to the station at large until the day before when he’d advised he wouldn’t be reachable for the day.

Annoyed at another dead end, but marginally satisfied with the knowledge that Stiles likely _wasn’t_  kidnapped and/or dying in a ditch somewhere, Derek decided to try Lydia’s again.

This time, her mother was gone and he wandered up to the house, knocking on the door. Lydia was the one who answered, seeming annoyed at seeing him.

“Scott said you might be coming by,” she said with an almost exasperated sigh, giving him one of her condescending looks of superiority. “Stiles isn’t here. You won’t find him today, just leave it alone.”

“I need him,” Derek snapped, irritated. “Tell me where he is.”

“I don’t know,” she replied back curtly, bristling at his tone. Why was everyone on edge about Stiles today?

Derek gave her an annoyed and disbelieving look, which had her stiffen further and point an accusatory, manicured finger at him.

“Don’t you eyebrow at me. Don’t you have a corner to go lurk in somewhere? Go bother someone else. Stiles isn’t here.”

She slammed the door in his face.

Frustrated and wanting some answers, Derek tried to go back to bug Scott, but the shit had left the house and while Derek could try and track him down, he didn’t want to be looking for _two_  people, so he let it go.

He _did_  stop by the clinic to see Deaton, though, just in case Scott was hiding. He wasn’t, and Deaton politely told him that he regrettably did not know where Stiles was when he was asked.

People gave Derek a wide berth after his visit to the clinic, presumably because the large cloud of doom above him was legitimately going to become real if he came across magic any time soon. He just wanted _Stiles_ , was that too fucking much to ask? Sure, he could probably look this up himself, but Stiles did it better. And he was better at stringing clues together. And he just—it was his _thing_! It was all the human had to contribute to the team, Derek couldn’t just do his own research, then Stiles’ purpose would cease to exist.

Stiles might even get _offended_. Maybe he’d think Derek was trying to _steal_  his contribution to the pack.

No, Derek couldn’t do the research. That was encroaching on Stiles’ metaphorical territory.

He was about to try looping back to the Stilinski house once more when a thought occurred to him and he changed directions, heading closer to the heart of town. Within twenty minutes, he was walking out of the elevator, looking around before slowly moving towards the closest nurse’s station.

“Hi,” he said, trying for his best smile, knowing that the ladies at the police station melted when he did that. It worked on the nurse, too. She was an older woman, likely married, but she still got all flustered and stumbled over her words, asking how she could help him. “I’m looking for Melissa McCall.”

“Derek?”

He turned at his name, seeing the woman herself, and moved towards her immediately. She looked panicked for a moment, quietly asking him if everything was okay and who was hurt. She was a woman ready for bad news, so Derek was somewhat pleased with himself for not having to give her any.

“I’m looking for Stiles. Do you know where he might be?”

She gave him a weird look, probably wondering why Derek was asking her. When she opened her mouth to likely tell him to ask Scott, he interrupted her.

“Scott said I wouldn’t find him today.”

“Wouldn’t—” She cut herself off, then checked her watch. “Oh,” she said, just like Scott.

“Oh?” he pressed, trying to sound polite but certain he just sounded impatient and annoyed.

“Sorry Derek, but you won’t find Stiles today,” she said, and Derek realized she’d been looking at the date on her watch. “Or the sheriff.”

“And why is that?” he asked through gritted teeth.

For once, finally, someone actually gave him an answer. “It’s the anniversary today.”

“Anniversary?”

“Of Claudia’s death, Stiles’ mother.” Melissa crossed her arms, clipboard held in one hand and let out a small sigh. “Both Noah and Stiles don’t do well today. With others, or each other. They both disappear for the whole day, no one knows where they are, and they like it that way.” Uncrossing her arms, she patted his shoulder gently. “Sorry Derek. Whatever it is, it’ll have to wait for tomorrow.”

Derek watched her walk away, somehow feeling hollow. He hadn’t known. Every person he’d managed to speak to today had known instantly that he wouldn’t find Stiles because it was _that_  day. Derek didn’t know how he’d never found out before. He’d known Stiles for a few years, enough for this anniversary to have passed at least twice since meeting him. So how had he not known?

He left the hospital without speaking to anyone else, almost wishing he’d never found out so he could just keep being mad at Stiles for being AWOL. Then again, if he’d started snapping impatiently at him the following day for being missing, that probably wouldn’t be received very well.

When he reached the street, he realized he didn’t know where he wanted to go. He’d spent the better part of the day looking for Stiles, and now knowing he wouldn’t find him, he didn’t know what he was to do with the rest of his day.

Checking the time, he realized it was almost two, which probably explained the hollowness in his stomach given he hadn’t eaten since dinner the night before. He decided to grab something from a food truck, since it required the least amount of interaction possible while avoiding having to cook food himself.

Sitting on a bench in the town square, he ate slowly, watching people walk by and listening to snip-its of conversations while the wind steadily picked up, turning the air an almost biting cold despite the time of year. His mind strayed back to what Melissa had said about how the sheriff and Stiles didn’t spend the day together and somehow, that bothered him. Grief wasn’t supposed to push people apart, it brought them together.

Derek knew that first hand. Having lost virtually his entire family in one fell swoop, he and Laura had clung to one another almost in desperation. To know that Stiles and his father didn’t share their grief together…

He supposed everyone grieved differently. He’d become more closed off and guarded. Laura had become stronger and more trusting. A contrast, he supposed, but everyone was different.

Standing and tossing his food wrapper out, he started wandering back towards the loft, wondering if Scott had ever even tried to spend any time with Stiles on this day. He probably had, but if Stiles didn’t want to be found—or didn’t want company—Scott would likely respect that.

Derek was just about to turn to head down another street towards his loft when a scent in the wind caught his attention.

Stiles. He could smell Stiles.

Turning, he inhaled deeply, trying to determine where it was coming from. It was difficult to pick up a solid direction, given how strong the wind was blowing and how many people were out, but he stayed focussed on his scent and slowly began working his way towards it.

Ten minutes later, and Derek found himself standing by the road beside the cemetery. The day was too bright and cheerful for someone to be in such a depressing place, but rain and gloom were reserved for the movies. In real life, bad things happened regardless of the weather.

Moving slowly between the rows of tombstones, Derek made his way towards the middle of the fourth plot before he finally saw him.

Stiles was in front of a modest looking headstone, sitting cross-legged with what looked like some kind of camping blanket wrapped around him. Derek was surprised to hear the silence. He was under the impression Stiles would be talking a mile a minute, bringing his mother up to speed on everything that had transpired throughout the year, but he wasn’t. He was just sitting there, silent, shoulders hunched.

Derek moved forward slowly, coming up beside him before stopping, looking down at the engravings on the stone. He knew Stiles was aware of his presence, but he said nothing, so Derek didn’t, either.

There were fresh flowers on the grave and a backpack beside where Stiles was bundled in his blanket. Derek could see a bottle of water poking out the top, and the dark circles under the teen’s eyes suggested he’d been there since before Derek had thought of showing up at his house. It made him wonder if Stiles had come by the previous night, sat down, and not moved.

“How’d you find me?” Stiles asked after almost fifteen minutes of silence.

“Werewolf.”

“Right.” He said nothing else. Didn’t even ask Derek to leave.

It was unnerving, and after almost five more minutes of silence from Stiles—from _Stiles_!—Derek hesitated before asking, “Should I leave?”

“If you want.”

“I don’t.”

“Then do whatever you want to do,” Stiles said, voice seeming tight, as if he were about to snap at Derek for daring to exist.

Melissa was right. Stiles wasn’t good with people on this day.

Derek decided he didn’t care, because Stiles shouldn’t sit there being miserable by himself, so he took a seat on the hard dirt beside him and the two of them stayed silent, staring at the tombstone. It was depressing, in Derek’s opinion. Even though he’d lived in the burnt out remains of his house for a few months, at least he’d done it because it reminded him of the good times. A happier life.

There was some punishment in there too, but really, he was just glad to have fond memories of the destroyed mansion in the woods. What Stiles was doing, sitting here, in front of a piece of stone…

“Tell me about her,” Derek said quietly.

“Why?” Stiles snapped.

“So I can know her like you did.”

“She’s not someone I want to share with you,” he said darkly, eyes still on the grave. “I don’t like talking about her.”

“Why not?”

“Because it hurts,” Stiles spat, finally turning to him, eyes ablaze with anger. “Because losing someone you care about _hurts_ , Derek. Why the fuck do you think?”

“I think I might have some experience with loss,” Derek replied. He’d tried for sympathetic, but felt it had come out more dry than anything.

Some of the fight seemed to leave Stiles’ expression and for a split second, he looked stricken, as if suddenly realizing who he was speaking to. The moment passed quickly though and he turned away from Derek. He didn’t apologize, but he muttered that there was a reason he stayed away from people on this day.

Derek didn’t mind. Everyone grieved differently, and if Stiles didn’t want to share, he wouldn’t force him. He just sat beside him, shifting slightly so that one of his knees bumped against Stiles’ leg. Not demanding, just offering comfort, if it was wanted. It likely wasn’t, but he didn’t really care.

Stiles smelled like heartache and loneliness. He looked miserable and depressed. His heart and breathing kept doing weird hitches that would’ve concerned Derek any other time.

After almost an hour of sitting there, Derek felt stiff and was amazed at the fact that Stiles hadn’t moved. He was usually annoying with his flailing and fidgeting, talking a mile a minute and being generally obnoxious.

It was something Derek had begun to find endearing, and this quiet, miserable, lonely Stiles didn’t suit him.

He was contemplating the easiest way to shift positions without disrupting Stiles too much when suddenly, he spoke.

“She was a terrible baker.”

Derek turned to him, about to ask what he was talking about before it clicked.

He was talking about his mother.

“All baking?” Derek asked, using the opportunity to shift a little so his legs weren’t quite so stiff.

“All baking. She made a cake for my birthday once. At least, I think it was supposed to be a cake. It looked like a brick of charcoal by the time she took it out of the oven.” A soft, sad smile formed on Stiles’ face at the memory. “She made cookies for a bake sale once, too. They broke one of Ms. Freake’s teeth. Mom was so embarrassed that she made another batch to try and make it up to her. Probably not one of her better ideas.”

“Everyone has to be bad at something,” Derek said quietly. “My mother couldn’t sew. She managed to stitch a shirt to the pants she was wearing while fixing a button. Button didn’t stay on, and shirt ruined her pants.”

Stiles actually smiled at that, turning to look at Derek. He seemed to be coming back to himself, returning to the Stiles Derek knew and loved.

Well, not _loved_ , but was used to. Enjoyed having around. Liked spending time with?

_Maybe_  loved. He didn’t dwell on it.

Stiles continued then, beginning to talk a little more about his mother. Derek asked questions, being sure to keep things polite and trying not to pry. Stiles answered most of them, and redirected when he didn’t want to answer others. He asked Derek about his family, too, and while the werewolf didn’t like talking about them, he made an exception. Stiles was doing the same with him, it seemed only fair to return the favour.

The sun had begun to set by the time Stiles rooted through his bag for some food. He pulled out a granola bar, and when Derek asked if that was all he’d eaten that day, Stiles shrugged and admitted he usually didn’t eat much when he came out to the cemetery.

Derek left him then, but only to see if the food trucks were still out. One of them was, and he got some mac’n’cheese with bacon, closing both cartons tightly to ensure they would stay warm before heading back to the cemetery. Stiles actually gave him a genuine smile when Derek held out one of the containers, sitting back down beside him.

The two of them ate in silence, but it was a more comfortable one than earlier. Stiles eventually began talking about his mother once more, recounting a story from middle school where she’d almost killed his father with macaroni and cheese. Derek liked watching the way Stiles slowly cheered up the more he spoke about her, and when they’d finished their dinner, the teen actually flailed one arm, freeing it from the tight confines of the blanket wrapped around him.

As night fell and the air chilled more, Stiles offered to share the blanket with him. Derek wasn’t particularly cold, but acknowledged that Stiles might be getting a little chilly. Being a werewolf, he ran hotter than most so he scooted closer until he was pressed against Stiles’ side and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and his front, joining with Stiles’ part so that they were both fully covered.

Silence fell once more, and Derek really thought that they should be leaving when it began growing darker and darker, but nobody came to tell them to get out. Stiles also didn’t make any move to leave.

So, Derek stayed with him. He could tell his presence seemed to be soothing Stiles, less agonized scents escaping from him, and eventually Stiles fell asleep with his head on Derek’s shoulder.

He didn’t want Stiles to stay out all night, but somehow felt like this was a ritual for him. Midnight to midnight seemed about right, so he waited in the silent, dark night, listening to Stiles’ heart and feeling his breath along his jaw while he slept.

At ten-past-midnight, he nudged Stiles awake. He was groggy and a little grumpy, but when Derek told him the time, he deflated and struggled to get his stiff limbs to move the way he wanted them to. Derek stood and held a hand out to him, hauling him to his feet. He gathered up the blanket and their garbage, then hoisted Stiles’ backpack over his shoulder.

“I’ll wait for you at the Jeep.” He figured that Stiles would want to say goodbye, so he left him to it, wanting to give him some privacy.

When he got to the car, he found it unlocked. It made sense, no one would steal this piece of junk. It was held together with duct tape, was older than Stiles, and everyone knew whose car it was. You’d have to be an idiot to steal the sheriff’s son’s car.

He put the backpack and blanket in the back, then threw the trash out in a bin near where Stiles had parked. He got behind the wheel, more awake than he knew Stiles was, and when the other finally made his way out of the cemetery, he didn’t argue when he saw Derek in the driver’s seat, just handed over his keys.

The drive back to the Stilinski house was conducted in silence, Stiles staring out the window the entire time. Derek parked the Jeep on the road, noticing the cruiser in the driveway. That meant the sheriff was home, too.

“Thanks,” Stiles said quietly.

“No problem.”

“I don’t mean for the drive home.”

“I know.”

Stiles nodded once, then opened his door and exited the vehicle. He made no move to take anything out of the back, likely just wanting to go to bed and forget the day had ever happened.

Before closing the door, Stiles paused and turned towards Derek, but kept his gaze lowered. “Sometimes, I forget.”

“Forget?” Derek asked.

“That she’s gone. That it’s just dad and me. I forget that she isn’t just out.” He clenched his jaw. “I think she’s coming back.”

Derek nodded slowly. “Sometimes, I forget, too,” he admitted. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Stiles.”

Pressing his lips together, Stiles muttered another quiet thanks and then shut the door. Derek waited until he was safely in the house before exiting the vehicle and beginning to walk home.

When he showed up in Stiles’ room the next day around noon, having come in through his window, Stiles flailed in fright and fell out of his chair before insisting loudly and emphatically that Derek was an asshole who wanted to give him a heart attack.

Derek glowered at him and demanded he research something for him, hovering impatiently until Stiles stopped being flaily and annoying.

Neither of them brought up the previous day, but it was something Derek knew would stay with him.

He’d already programmed the date into his phone for next year, and this time, he would know where to find him from the get-go without spending most of the day looking for him.

Derek wondered if Stiles liked bagels.

**END.**


End file.
